


What Happens in Hengoed...

by GhostOfDorothyStreet



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Drunken fumbling, Frottage, M/M, Mentioned Jack/Ianto, Set during The Last Beacon, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostOfDorothyStreet/pseuds/GhostOfDorothyStreet
Summary: Owen’s bed is closer to the wall, and that’s the one they collapse onto, laughing and snorting, drawn down by the strange sideways gravity of the utterly trolleyed...





	What Happens in Hengoed...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angryangryowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/gifts).



> A "missing scene" of sorts from the Big Finish Torchwood audio play, "The Last Beacon" (if you haven't listened to that and don't intend to, I've put some context in the end notes)

By some miracle or another, they manage to climb the stairs to the middle floor without tumbling back down it. Their trek may involve leaning against the wall and shuffling along it, coat zippers dragging on textured wallpaper, but make it they do. Once in the room, the brightness of the filament bulb bouncing off four white walls ought to be sobering, but somehow it just makes both their heads spin even more. 

Owen’s bed is closer to the wall, and that’s the one they collapse onto, laughing and snorting, drawn down by the strange sideways gravity of the utterly trolleyed. But Ianto’s arm is trapped under Owen’s shoulder, and Owen’s is still around Ianto’s waist, and it’s only a moment and a creak of the old mattress before they’re face to face, not really laughing anymore.

“What’re we doin’ here, Ianto...” Their noses are half smushed together, and Ianto can feel the movement of Owen’s mouth just as well as he can hear his voice - half slurred and sing-song rhetorical.

“I dunno, what d’you want us to be doing?” it would sound more casual if his fingers weren’t curling into the hair at the back of Owen’s head, if their legs weren’t tangled up.

If he didn’t finish the sentence by gently sucking Owen’s lower lip into the space between his own.

“You,” Owen pokes him in the chest with his free arm, but his hand soon goes flat against Ianto’s chest, drags down the front of his shirt, “’Ave got a _boyfriend_. A boyfriend who’s my boss... _our_  boss.”

“I have a very understandin’, open minded boyfriend...” Ianto corrects, lips brushing the angular plane of Owen’s cheek, “Who’s made lotsa comments himself about you, and that firm little arse of yours...”

He hitches Owen closer with a hand on said arse for emphasis and encouragement. Not that Owen really needs it, when the hand he’d had pressed to Ianto’s chest is now palming him through his jeans.

“Well, don’ I feel objectified...” spoken against Ianto’s neck, teeth grazing his jaw, “...S’not a bad feelin’...”

And neither is what Owen’s hand is doing between Ianto’s legs - friction and pressure and rough cotton against his cock. Ianto gets his thigh wedged up between Owen’s in return, earning him a hiss of his name against his ear as Owen grinds slowly against him.

Their mouths find each other blindly, and Ianto tastes cheap lager and sour cherry on Owen’s tongue - shots before shut tap, bright artificial red that Ianto hadn’t been able to face himself. It’s too hot with their clothes still on and they keep pressing each other’s bruises with dizzy uncoordinated limbs, but in their little windowless box of a room it’s perfect. 

When Ianto cums it’s with a moan, when Owen does it’s with a growl and too many exposed teeth and Ianto just has to kiss him again for it.

They're still like that, a tangle of limbs with their faces nuzzled into each other's necks when chemical cocktail of alcohol and endorphins sends them down into the dark.

Sometime around 3am finds Ianto awake with a stiff neck and a dry mouth, Owen's breath hot against his skin, and getting up is harder than expects. For someone who likes to act all tough and detached, Owen's a very persistent cuddler in his sleep...

Ianto pours himself a glass of water that tastes faintly of metal, cleans himself up in the bathroom. He lingers in the doorway for a moment, bleary eyed as he takes in the huddled form on the furthest bed. Owen seems to have replaced him with a pillow - tangled in the blanket and curled into a mumbling human pretzel.

In the end, it's his own bed he slumps down on. He'll tell Jack when they get back - Jack always knows everything anyway, and far from being mad, he'll no doubt just want as many lurid details as Ianto can provide...

"Night, Owen..." He says, voice sleep thickened and hoarse, smiling to himself as he drifts back off. 

**Author's Note:**

> For context - in the audio play The Last Beacon, Ianto and Owen go undercover in a small Welsh town to investigate a mysterious signal. While there they share a hotel room, and get into a bar fight with some locals, which soon evolves into getting very drunk with said locals and having to support each other on the walk back.
> 
> Additional notes:  
> 1) I used to work in a retro nightclub and may have developed a weird complex about Cherry Sourz (it's been like 5 years but I'm amazed I don't still smell of the stuff).  
> 2) I came this close to calling this thing "guys being dudes"


End file.
